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Ernst: Mystery of the lost West Point ring

John Mikula had all but given up hope when he lost his West Point class ring on Golden Beach in Venice. The ring which was struck by a bullet in the Vietnam war was found a few days later by local treasure hunters Jay and Karen Ganz. The Ganz's answered an ad in the Herald Tribune asking for help in finding the ring. After three days of searching they found the ring and returned to its rightful owner, Mr. Mikula. Photo/ Matt Houston )

Published: Friday, March 15, 2013 at 3:20 p.m.

Last Modified: Friday, March 15, 2013 at 3:20 p.m.

The classified ad ran Feb. 27 in the Herald-Tribune's LOST category, its 10 words hardly conveying the mix of hope and desperation behind them.

John Mikula's ring meant a lot to him. To explain why, he tells two stories.

First of all, he says, at West Point, there's a ceremony when graduates receive their rings. It's a big deal. More recently, the families of graduates who have died return the rings to West Point. They are melted and recast for new recipients, to provide them an extra bond with those who have gone before them.

In the irreverence common to the military, West Point officers are often called "ring knockers," a reference to the higher-ups who sit at desks and try to call attention to themselves and their positions of authority by drumming their rings.

Ring gets damaged? "He couldn't communicate with Washington any more because the crystal was gone." Get a bad assignment? "His ring wasn't working."

You get the picture.

In 1967, shortly after Mikula bought his ring and while he trained as a ranger at Fort Benning, Ga., someone broke into his locker and stole it. He searched every pawn shop in Columbus, Ga., with no luck. Soon, he took his first assignment at Fort Hood, Texas, where a former West Point classmate called him.

The classmate had been on an airborne operation when he noticed the private next to him wearing a West Point ring. Knowing an enlisted man would not have graduated from West Point, he asked to see the ring. He spied Mikula's name, tracked him down and returned the ring to him.

Six months later, Mikula was in Vietnam. He commanded a company in the Army's 4th Infantry Division. They were advancing up a hill in the central highlands when North Vietnamese regulars ambushed them.

A firefight ensued. When it ended, Mikula looked down. His hand was bleeding. Then he glanced at his ring. Its blue spinel gemstone had been shot out. He looked over to his first sergeant, who was digging a hole with his helmet.

"Hey Top," he said. "Look at my ring."

The sergeant paused ever so slightly from his digging. "You goddamn West Pointers; you're worrying about your ring," he said. "Dig a hole!"

Mikula never did replace that stone.

The ring developed a legend of its own at West Point, where Mikula returned to finish out his military career, teaching Russian language from 1984-88. Cadets used to come to his home after hours to see the ring that had lost its stone during mortal combat.

If the ring has stories, so does Mikula.

Did he mention he played on legendary coach Bobby Knight's first team at Army? Mikula was the guard who didn't shoot that well. You might have heard of another guard on that team: Mike Krzyzewski.

Mikula was in Berlin when the Wall fell. He helped knock it down. He still has a piece at his home.

He was in Czechoslovakia when the Russians pulled out. He lined the road with the Czechs as the tanks and jeeps and trucks rolled past, heading back to the Soviet Union. The people along the road didn't throw rocks. They didn't jeer. They formed a silent gantlet to usher the occupiers from their land. Afterward, celebrations broke out in every town, Mikula says. People appeared with American flags they had hidden in their attics.

Mikula spent his post-Army career with a small consulting company that advised businesses expanding to eastern Europe.

He met his wife, Vera, in Australia, while on leave from Vietnam. Within two days, they knew they wanted to marry, which they did shortly afterward in his hometown of Dayton, Ohio, before Mikula's second tour.

The couple has been renting a condo in the Golden Beach neighborhood of Venice, where they plan to move as soon as they sell their house in Annapolis, Md.

That brings us to last Thanksgiving. Mikula was on the beach and in the water with his grandson for much of the day. Then he noticed his ring missing. When he discovered the ring was not in the tissue box where he often leaves it, the family scoured the house. No ring. For two days, Mikula walked the beach, retracing his steps. Still no ring.

Storms came and went. The topography of the beach changed. In February, on a whim, Mikula placed the ad.

That's how he met Jay and Karen Ganz of North Port. Jay, a retired pharmacist, and Karen, a former nurse, search for treasures along beaches, metal detectors and wire baskets in hand.

They're good at it; so good, lifeguards give their phone number to people who lose valuables. The couple have found 82 gold and platinum jewelry pieces, mostly rings, in the 32 years they've plied their hobby. In many cases, they've had to do some detective work to reunite items with the owners who lost them.

On March 11, Karen Ganz entered 65-degree water that was too rough for Jay, who has two artificial hips, to navigate. Waves tore her first scoop from her hands and emptied half its contents into the water. On her second scoop, just before she was ready to call it quits because of the conditions, she found the ring.

"It was like something drew me to that spot," she says. "We had already told ourselves that if we never retrieved another piece of jewelry, we wanted to get that ring. It meant so much to him. It brings tears to your eyes."

Mikula calls the Ganzes a wonderful couple. As for the ring experience, "It's just life," he says. "How things happen, there are so many variables."

On Friday morning, he ran another classified ad, this time under the category FOUND.

"West Point Ring found by Jay and Karen Ganz in Gulf and returned to owner. Thanks to all who offered help."

<p><i>West Point Class Ring. Lost near Golden Beach. Reward. Call … </i></p><p>The classified ad ran Feb. 27 in the Herald-Tribune's LOST category, its 10 words hardly conveying the mix of hope and desperation behind them.</p><p>John Mikula's ring meant a lot to him. To explain why, he tells two stories.</p><p>First of all, he says, at West Point, there's a ceremony when graduates receive their rings. It's a big deal. More recently, the families of graduates who have died return the rings to West Point. They are melted and recast for new recipients, to provide them an extra bond with those who have gone before them.</p><p>In the irreverence common to the military, West Point officers are often called "ring knockers," a reference to the higher-ups who sit at desks and try to call attention to themselves and their positions of authority by drumming their rings.</p><p>Ring gets damaged? "He couldn't communicate with Washington any more because the crystal was gone." Get a bad assignment? "His ring wasn't working." </p><p>You get the picture.</p><p>In 1967, shortly after Mikula bought his ring and while he trained as a ranger at Fort Benning, Ga., someone broke into his locker and stole it. He searched every pawn shop in Columbus, Ga., with no luck. Soon, he took his first assignment at Fort Hood, Texas, where a former West Point classmate called him.</p><p>The classmate had been on an airborne operation when he noticed the private next to him wearing a West Point ring. Knowing an enlisted man would not have graduated from West Point, he asked to see the ring. He spied Mikula's name, tracked him down and returned the ring to him.</p><p>Six months later, Mikula was in Vietnam. He commanded a company in the Army's 4th Infantry Division. They were advancing up a hill in the central highlands when North Vietnamese regulars ambushed them.</p><p>A firefight ensued. When it ended, Mikula looked down. His hand was bleeding. Then he glanced at his ring. Its blue spinel gemstone had been shot out. He looked over to his first sergeant, who was digging a hole with his helmet.</p><p>"Hey Top," he said. "Look at my ring."</p><p>The sergeant paused ever so slightly from his digging. "You goddamn West Pointers; you're worrying about your ring," he said. "Dig a hole!"</p><p>Mikula never did replace that stone.</p><p>The ring developed a legend of its own at West Point, where Mikula returned to finish out his military career, teaching Russian language from 1984-88. Cadets used to come to his home after hours to see the ring that had lost its stone during mortal combat.</p><p>If the ring has stories, so does Mikula.</p><p>Did he mention he played on legendary coach Bobby Knight's first team at Army? Mikula was the guard who didn't shoot that well. You might have heard of another guard on that team: Mike Krzyzewski.</p><p>Mikula was in Berlin when the Wall fell. He helped knock it down. He still has a piece at his home.</p><p>He was in Czechoslovakia when the Russians pulled out. He lined the road with the Czechs as the tanks and jeeps and trucks rolled past, heading back to the Soviet Union. The people along the road didn't throw rocks. They didn't jeer. They formed a silent gantlet to usher the occupiers from their land. Afterward, celebrations broke out in every town, Mikula says. People appeared with American flags they had hidden in their attics.</p><p>Mikula spent his post-Army career with a small consulting company that advised businesses expanding to eastern Europe.</p><p>He met his wife, Vera, in Australia, while on leave from Vietnam. Within two days, they knew they wanted to marry, which they did shortly afterward in his hometown of Dayton, Ohio, before Mikula's second tour.</p><p>The couple has been renting a condo in the Golden Beach neighborhood of Venice, where they plan to move as soon as they sell their house in Annapolis, Md.</p><p>That brings us to last Thanksgiving. Mikula was on the beach and in the water with his grandson for much of the day. Then he noticed his ring missing. When he discovered the ring was not in the tissue box where he often leaves it, the family scoured the house. No ring. For two days, Mikula walked the beach, retracing his steps. Still no ring.</p><p>Storms came and went. The topography of the beach changed. In February, on a whim, Mikula placed the ad.</p><p>That's how he met Jay and Karen Ganz of North Port. Jay, a retired pharmacist, and Karen, a former nurse, search for treasures along beaches, metal detectors and wire baskets in hand.</p><p>They're good at it; so good, lifeguards give their phone number to people who lose valuables. The couple have found 82 gold and platinum jewelry pieces, mostly rings, in the 32 years they've plied their hobby. In many cases, they've had to do some detective work to reunite items with the owners who lost them.</p><p>On March 11, Karen Ganz entered 65-degree water that was too rough for Jay, who has two artificial hips, to navigate. Waves tore her first scoop from her hands and emptied half its contents into the water. On her second scoop, just before she was ready to call it quits because of the conditions, she found the ring.</p><p>"It was like something drew me to that spot," she says. "We had already told ourselves that if we never retrieved another piece of jewelry, we wanted to get that ring. It meant so much to him. It brings tears to your eyes."</p><p>Mikula calls the Ganzes a wonderful couple. As for the ring experience, "It's just life," he says. "How things happen, there are so many variables."</p><p>On Friday morning, he ran another classified ad, this time under the category FOUND.</p><p><i>"West Point Ring found by Jay and Karen Ganz in Gulf and returned to owner. Thanks to all who offered help."</i></p><p>Eric Ernst's column runs Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Contact him at eric.ernnst@heraldtribune.com or (941) 486-3073.</p><p><empty></p>